“Nothing—nothing. You are right. It is certainly the best—the only plan. I will follow it.” And L— left me.
I saw no more of him for three days, when the brigade to which he and I belonged, entered the city on its road homeward. He had detailed his plans to Rafaela, and had bid her, for a time, farewell.
The other three divisions had already marched. Ours was to form the rear-guard, and that night was to be our last in the city of Mexico. I had retired to bed at an early hour, to prepare for our march on the morrow. I was about falling asleep when a loud knock sounded at my door. I rose and opened it. It was L—. I started as the light showed me his face—it was ghastly. His lips were white, his teeth set, and dark rings appeared around his eyes. The eyes themselves glared in their sockets, lit up by some terrible emotion.
“Come!” cried he, in a hoarse and tremulous voice. “Come with me, Henry, I need you.”
“What is it, my dear L—? A quarrel? A duel?”
“No! no! nothing of the sort. Come! come! come! I will show you a sight that will make a wolf of you. Haste! For God’s sake, haste!”
I hurried on my clothes.
“Bring your arms!” cried L—; “you may require them.”
I buckled on my sword and pistol-belt, and followed hastily into the street. We ran down the Calle Correo toward the Alameda. It was the road to the Convent of San Francisco, where our regiment had quartered for the night. As yet I knew not for what I was going. Could the enemy have attacked us? No—all was quiet. The people were in their beds. What could it be? L— had not, and would not, explain; but to my inquiries, continually cried, “Haste—come on!” We reached the convent, and, hastily passing the guard, made for the quarters occupied by my friend. As we entered the room—a large one—I saw five or six females, with about a dozen men, soldiers and officers. All were excited by some unusual occurrence. The females were Mexicans, and their heads were muffled in their rebozos. Some were weeping aloud, others talking in strains of lamentation. Among them I distinguished the face of my friend’s betrothed.
“Dearest Rafaela!” cried L—, throwing his arms around her—“it is my friend. Here, Henry, look here! look at this!”